


charon

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fantasizing, Feelings, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tenderness, lots of Pining and Wanting and Whatnot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: some peaceful alone time(a direct sequel to pluto)
Relationships: Hanneman von Essar/Gilbert Pronislav
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	charon

**Author's Note:**

> hi. hello
> 
> a great many thanks to my friend mye bird_scribbles on twitter for giving this the once over before i post it
> 
> if you are here to be rude i assure you there are many other ways to waste your time
> 
> if you want to read this then i do hope you like it

_~~I am with~~ _

_~~I have begun relations wi~~ _

_~~Some changes have occurred, and~~ _

It’s no good. 

There’s hardly ever a _best_ way to give someone dear to you important news. But the more Gilbert meditates on how to spell out the matter of his and Hanneman’s- _companionship_ , as he calls it both to himself and others- to Annette, the more he stumbles on the matter. Each choice feels hollow of _something_ , like how confession to the Goddess doesn’t really work if you’re speaking deceptively. The core meaning of his words never change, but the accent placed upon the sentiment by his choice of words never quite fits. Bringing the topic up to Annette is a threatening prospect in the first place; Gilbert isn’t sure if he’d ever forgive himself (as if he has ever forgiven himself before) if he were to falter. It’s something that she needs to hear from him- Gilbert had insisted upon the matter when Hanneman had suggested writing a letter on behalf of both of them- but each moment that passes drags him further to the edge of simply crawling back to Hanneman, begging him to apply his more adept grasp of language to the letter. 

_Perhaps I should just take my respite._

The thought is perilous to Gilbert, and hardly the sort of thing he would have considered in the years before. But Manuela had recommended _regular restraint from working_ as part of one of their conversations, and despite his initial hesitance, Gilbert had found that it was oft-sufficient in clearing his mind at least partially. He’d acclimatised to it- even begun to find it comforting- the process of simply _being_ , and thinking neither of work nor troubling matters. 

Pushing the sturdy wooden frame of the desk-chair underneath the cavernous space below his desk, Gilbert stretches, raising his shoulders and unclenching his muscles in even time. 

_Another exercise Manuela had suggested, both for the body and the mind_. 

Instead of heading to training, as he might be wont to do post-warmup, Gilbert draws the thin curtains of his window to one side, obscuring the late-spring twilight which seeps through the glass. In the absence of the blue hour, Gilbert’s room turns a flame-warmed orange, lit as it is by a single candle contained in a metal canister on his desk. The immediate comfort of his bed as he sits, then lays, makes him infinitely thankful that he’s already dressed to sleep. 

_It’s early,_ he mumbles to himself, _but I could rest, and rise earlier in the morning_. 

Still, when he shuts his eyes, Gilbert knows he’s not quite _tired_. The self-numbing feeling of _need_ hasn’t settled inside of him yet, and it doesn’t feel quite right to sleep when it hasn’t. He ponders, briefly, whether such a sentiment counts as a _self-punishing thought_ , as it has been described to him, before he brings a single hand to his hair and unclips the strong metal fastening which binds the fox-muzzle strands together. 

Aside from training, he’s unsure of any methods to incur the feeling naturally. It’s much too late, though, for him to depart for the grounds, and to train in his room is an assuredly unhelpful thing. Nor is he particularly in the mood for it- some of the students are beginning to show signs of great potential, and while a fortunate thing for Fodlan’s future, Gilbert does not count it as particularly favourable for the aches in his bones. 

_A sensation that can only be experienced after experiencing a great deal of physical exertion, but which cannot be achieved through exercise._ Gilbert turns the idea around in his mind a few times, as if it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. In the dregs of his thoughts, he tries to summon memories of the times he’s felt similar, running through his lingering thoughts like filed paper. 

What hits him; like a bird to a window-pane, makes him blush profusely, regardless of his being the sole occupant of the room. On instinct, he pulls the covers over himself, and takes to lying on his side.

_Would it be right to do so?_

He has- _finished_ , for lack of better word- in the past, though oft-joylessly. In the context of his relationship with Hanneman, however, he has only _touched_ , amateurishly guiding the professor to his completion in the solace of his bedroom a moon beforehand. Though he had been offered, Gilbert had denied to have the indulgence of the flesh returned to him in kind; Hanneman had instead settled for kissing him on the forehead and running his hands through Gilbert’s hair. He had not considered the concept of touching himself to the simple thought of Hanneman, not before. But in the confines of his candle-lit room, Gilbert cannot deny the appeal of the prospect. After all, Hanneman had been quite exhausted by the time he had released; both of them knowing such things came with age. 

The same thing would likely burden him, should he try it himself. 

Tenderly, experimentally, Gilbert’s unoccupied hand slips beneath his nightclothes, comes to palm him gently. Something inside stirs, though not fully, and he suspects that it would be best to summon a particularly appealing thought before attempting to continue.

The first thing he envisions is Hanneman. So is the second thing, and the third thing, and much the same occurs until Gilbert _huffs_ , and gives up on the prospect of summoning some amorphous male. Though his guilt lingers, he takes a moment to think through it in more depth, reminding himself that Hanneman had offered to pleasure him before, that they are in a _relationship_ , where such things as touch are permitted. 

His thought-trail rejoins his desires somewhere afterwards, Hanneman’s figure beginning to take better shape in his mind. When Gilbert closes his eyes, he can almost see him, perfectly formed and human. Flashing him the kind grin that assures him of his welcomeness, calling something sweet when they run into each other in public. Tentatively, he strips this Hanneman of his outer layer, heavy-coat removed to highlight the much less imposing figure underneath. 

_This is him_ , Gilbert reckons with. _He’s the one who makes you nervous, who makes you want, who makes you more than yourself_. 

In his vision, Hanneman flashes him a coy smile, and Gilbert supposes he can live with that. 

The next part, he supposes, is thinking of Hanneman _doing_ , rather than him simply existing. And, if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure what, exactly, he wants Hanneman to do. But, to his own great embarrassment, he’s begun to _ache_ where his hand hasn’t wavered. And for once, it’s not a weakness of the joints. 

There are many things Hanneman could do to him. He could do what he has already offered to do- provide a basic relief in the form of his hand, with no other temptations involved. But there are other things, undiscovered things, which he has not contemplated in full. 

Being _taken_ , for one. 

The fact that the mere _contemplation_ of the idea furthers his ache embarrasses Gilbert. Much of his life has been based on a foundation of indomitable strength; as is the role of a fortress knight. His body does not exist to be held, or entered into, it is a machine of strength and conquest. Such values are as drilled into him as writing, giving him the strength to apply his body in the sake of protecting his liege. 

But he has no liege, not anymore. Moreover, it is these ideals that Manuela has criticized, albeit subtly, in the context of their conversations. And though Gilbert knows he cannot exist entirely apart from them; some part of their shackles has been thrown off. 

He decides that it might not be so much of a betrayal to imagine Hanneman _having_ him. Admittedly, the specifics of the process are somewhat lost on him, but he knows of the positioning, at least vaguely. More than anything, he has heard of the pleasure incurred, and he decides that such is enough as he comes to wrap his palm more securely around himself. 

In the safety of his mind, Hanneman is bending over him, bony hips straddling his own. He’s whispering into Gilbert’s ear, sweet and secretive, much the same as the ones he had spoken early in their acquaintance. How Gilbert _mesmerizes_ him, how he moves with strong and measured precision in his training and in all other aspects of his life. The words are spoken in time with him beginning to grind against Gilbert, working him up further, til his heart begins to _thump_ in his chest. 

“How wonderful you are. How could I not wish for you to be receiving me?” 

_Yes_ , Gilbert thinks, almost desperate. _Say that to me again. Tell me that you want me._

Mind-Hanneman does, voice as low and warm as a petering flame, and though Gilbert knows it’s not real, he cannot ignore the way his ache intensifies at the sound of such wanton words. He takes himself firmer in hand, grits his teeth, and begins to stroke. 

There’s something pressed beneath Gilbert, holding his weight; he doesn’t put a name to it, nor does he care to. He faces forwards as Hanneman continues to work against him, pulling his hair from its bindings as he does, letting it flow free across his shoulders. Imagining such tender intimacy does, too, confound Gilbert’s senses, and he finds the urge within himself growing deeper. 

Wishing for the experience to deepen, Gilbert imagines Hanneman securing his grip by using hair as his anchor, tugging it ever so slightly as he angles himself inside. The friction of the pull combined with the imagined fullness simply adds more fuel to the fire; and Gilbert _burns_ , somehow more furiously than he’s done in decades. As he touches, he mutters to himself, the sweet words which Hanneman might so generously ply him with on loop in his mind.

_Very good. Good boy, so eager and excellent._ Each word is pitched and shaking, sex-shaped and undeniably truthful. Gilbert’s hips rock backwards at them, some long-dormant instinct activating, and a shuddered moan brushes his lips. For someone to be so fond of him, to want him- it overwhelms him, but in a fashion he cannot bring himself to reject. Not when Hanneman continues to melt into him as he does, Gilbert imagining the mounting of his pleasure with no shortage of contentment. 

_Do I feel good?_

He asks it both silently to Hanneman, and out loud to the silence that surrounds him. In his fantasy, Hanneman smooths his hand around his neck, traces his collarbones and mutters affirmatively.

“Very.”

Hanneman’s answer is curt, in no small part thanks to Gilbert running up against his edge, finding himself unable to continue imagining realistic dialogue for the Hanneman that’s bending over him, that’s making him _his_. Gilbert hardly minds; it’s enough to know that he’s desired. That despite the years of self-denial and hatred, there are things left for him, wonderful and infinite in number. 

A rasped moan escapes Gilbert’s throat as he nears his ending, hand still wrapped around the hilt of himself. To continue reigning himself in feels futile, and he lets himself go, feeling every part of himself constrict and release at once. The ragged sensation of his climax does nothing to make it less pleasurable; less intense, and Gilbert finds himself thankful that almost all of his release has concentrated on his own clothes, which can be removed and washed as is necessary. 

It’s certainly the experience Gilbert attempted to bring about, and in that sense, he’s satisfied by the conclusion. A wave of sleep-hunger washes over him as he carefully strips his lower coverings away- save for his undergarments, miraculously unstained- and at the end of his undressing, he falls back against his pillow. 

He thinks of Hanneman; wonders if he should tell him, if he’ll ever even be able to work up the courage to speak his desires. But there is little time for him to do so- indeed, the healing comfort overtakes him before long, and he falls asleep to the sound of a sigh on his breath, and Hanneman’s sweet voice in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> well wasn't that fun 
> 
> leave a kudos or a comment if you so desire


End file.
